Ever Watchful Angel
by Angel of The Fallen Stars
Summary: Amara was a typical 17 year old girl, until her grandmother dies and she is left all alone. As her world is crumbling from the beatings, and the emergence of a terrible gift, will her new guardian and strangely wonderful dreams make her life better? AU
1. Prologue

Hello everyone! This is my fourth, I think, story! I know I should be working on my other stories, but I had written some of this already about a month ago, and I felt like it needed to be put up here.

Enjoy…

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Ever Watchful Angel

Prologue

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Every night, since as long as I can remember, my grandmother would tell me stories about another world. A world mostly known as heaven, but wasn't really, especially by the way my grandmother would tell it.

You see, to become an angel of this 'heaven', you must be either born into this world, or you're so special that you get chosen to become apart of this world when you die. Though there is another way, but my grandmother never explained it to me. Though there are some people who are special, but they're intentions aren't the best, so while they still go to heaven, they become devils, having leather-esc bat wings instead of the feathery ones.

Originally, the devils and the angels were enemies and always were at war with each other. Eventually, they had a massive all out war, in which many angels and devils were lost. Finally the leader and the angels and the leader of the devils formed a truce, to settle this ageless dispute, and save their people from annihilating each other.

So now their lands are one, and most of them live peacefully together. Two males, one angel and one devil, who were the leaders of their people when they were enemies, now rule them.

My grandmother always told me of strong warriors or great tacticians, and of epic battles and strange events, but never once did she tell me any of their names. She would always say, _you don't say their names out loud, it's disrespectful, and could anger them. _

When I would ask how she knew their names in the first place, she would always chuckle and give me that wonderful smile that can brighten a whole room. Then she would say _when I was younger, I had a guardian angel myself that would tell me these stories all the time. And when I was old enough, he left me, to help other children. _

So I never knew their names, but I always believed in the words that my grandmother told me.

Until now…

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Well? How was it? I added some stuff that hadn't been in the original version, but I believe it's better now. Please review!

Angel of the Fallen Stars


	2. Birthday Miseries

Hey everyone!

No one reviewed… Oh well.

On to the chapter!

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Ever Watchful Angel

Chapter 1: Birthday Miseries

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Today is my seventeenth birthday, and I'm going to be having the biggest bash on the remote island I live on, Nova Roma. My name is Amara Aquilla and I have the strangest obsession with fire. I'm not a pyro, and I have no explanation, but every time I see a flame, I feel as if I am complete, as if I belong with the flames. I've only told one person about, I guess you can say, my love for fire, and that's my grandmother. She told me that instead of being weird, I was special, special to be intoned with nature, special to be different, unique, gifted.

My party starts in about two hours, and I'm not even ready! I've been in my bathtub of scorching hot water, which is the only way I like my baths, for at least over two hours now! Forcing my body to leave the wonderful warmth of the water, I managed to get out of the tub, unplug it, and wrap my thin, naked body up with a faded red towel I had laid aside for myself. Wiping the fog off my mirror, I gave myself a one over, to make sure I was decently clean for my guests, since baths are amazingly soothing, but aren't exactly the most cleanly. I saw my dark brown hair, darker now that it was wet, as well as matching my few shades lighter brown eyes, and my unnaturally brown skin. Since they all looked fine, I grabbed another towel and begun to dry my long hair.

Just then, a knock came to the door of my bathroom. "Amara Aquilla! Your party will begin in less than two hours! Get out of that tub, and get ready!" a female voice, my mother's, called through the door.

My mother is a beautiful woman. Strangely, she and I look nothing alike. She has bright blue eyes that seem, to me anyway, to hold a secret, and very long, curly blonde hair. She is also extremely pale compared to me. (A/N: If any of you have read the comics, you'll realize that I'm describing the Amara Aquilla of the comics.) While my father does look more like me, with his brown hair and eyes, but he is still pale compared to my skin. That is why my skin is unnatural.

"All right!" I call back. Exiting my bathroom, I entered my bedroom, heading towards my closet for some clothes. _Hmm… what should I wear? _I asked myself as I begun to search through my closet. Rummaging through until I reached the back, I finally found something. "Ah-ha!" I exclaimed happily, holding the piece of clothing up above my head. What I found was a thin strapped, pale orange dress that when I am wearing it, reaches just past my knees. It's one of my favourites!

After putting on my dress, I rush down the stairs, and just I was about to enter the kitchen, to help my mother with the snacks, when the telephone rang. "I've got it!" I call to my mother, picking up the phone. "Hello?" I answered.

"Hello? Amara?" a male voice that I recognized as our family doctor said, quite gravely. It troubled me that his voice sounded so grim.

"Yes," I replied. "What is it?" I then asked, slightly worried.

"It's your grandmother, her illness has turned for the worse, and she wants to see you, before-

"All right! I'll be there in ten minutes!" I exclaimed loudly before he could finish his sentence. I couldn't bear to hear what he would say, even though I knew what he was going to say.

"Al-all right," he said, surprised and shaken by my sudden outburst. I hung up the phone so sloppily and quickly that it fell off, but I didn't care as I ran as fast as I could out the front door.

As I mounted my bike, I could hear my mother call out to me, "Amara!? Where are you going!?"

I ignored her, and rode my bike speedily towards my grandmother's house. _Please, oh please don't die! Please! _I silently pleaded desperately.

When I arrived, I didn't even try to put my bike down nicely or to the side; I just dropped it and ran up the front stairs of her porch. I couldn't help thinking of all the times I lazily walked up those steps, my grandmother awaiting for me, knitting or doing some craft so peacefully. I felt the tears swell, but I brushed them aside as I opened the front door. Pounding up the stairs, I flung open the door, nearly unhinging it, as well as frightening the hell out of our family doctor, though I paid that no mind. Just barely had I caught my breath, when I lost it again. I couldn't help but gasp at the state my grandmother was in. There was my grandmother, so small it looked like the bed would swallow her any second, sickly pale, even for her dark skin, and was breathing in such unsteady rasps, I felt sick.

Dashing to the side of the bed, the one where she was facing, I kneeled down and grasped her small, withered hand. Somewhere, in the back of my head, I kind of acknowledged our doctor's presence, but I barely noticed that he was in the room, or when he left. All my attention was on my grandmother. "Grandmother! Grandmother? You're going to make it! Right? Right, grandmother?" I asked hurriedly and confusedly, but she understood me. She always could understand me.

"I'm sorry my little fire child, but I will have to leave you," my grandmother replied weakly. She was trying her best to sound strong, but I could tell she was completely drained. Her sounding so weak brought tears to my eyes, falling quickly.

"Will you at least go to the heaven of your stories?" I asked through my sobs.

"No. I am not special enough, I will go to the land of the no longer living," my grandmother replied, trying, but failing, to give me a comforting squeeze from the hand I am holding. (A/N: if you're not special enough to reach heaven when you die, you either go to the land of the no longer living if you're good, or hell if your bad.)

"So, you'll never see your guardian angel again?" I asked, controlling my sobs, as more tears fell down my face.

"No, my little fire child, I knew that I would never see him again, when he left me," my grandmother told me sadly, her voice wavering slightly from the pain.

This made me cry and sob some more. "Hush child, do not worry, I've lived a long and fulfilling life. I will be fine, but before I go…" she takes something out of her dress pocket, "here," my grandmother said as she places whatever she took from her pocket onto my hand. It is a necklace, with a stunning silver chain. Though the most beautiful thing about this necklace was its pendant. The pendant was made out of glass, shaped like a flame, and when I turned it, I swear that I saw fire burning inside of it.

"Th-thank you," I managed to say, still crying.

"Now my little fire child, I must leave you. Be strong, I love you dearly," my grandmother says, as she closes her eyes. I wait, but nothing happens, she doesn't move, or even breathe. I know that she is dead, but I didn't, couldn't, seem to let go of her hand.

When my parents finally find me, they hug me and tell me everything would get better, and I believed them.

Boy, was I stupid…

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Yay! I finished it! Now here comes the tough part, I have another chapter that is optional. It's the chapter of Amara's grandmother's funeral. Or I could just skip that, and go right to what happens after the funeral, and about her grandmother's will. So if anyone reads this before I finish writing the chapters for my other stories, I would really appreciate your opinion, thanks! Hope someone reviews!

Angel of the Fallen Stars


	3. The Truth about my Parents

Hello everyone!

My reviewer!

Adam: her grandmother gave her that necklace because it was her birthday! Duh! Thanks for the review, and I will add the chapter.

On to the chapter!

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Ever Watchful Angel

Chapter 2: Truth about my Parents

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In less than three hours my grandmother's funeral will start, and I wish that it would never come. I look into my mirror, and see my nearly naked body and red, puffy eyes, that have been crying continuously for almost a week now. Has it only been a week? It seems so long ago when she was alive. But why did my parents rush the funeral? Couldn't I have a few more weeks of mourning without having to see her lifeless body at a funeral?

My mother calls to me and tells me to get ready, since we're leaving soon. I barely notice what I put on. All I know about it is that it's black, and a dress. Sitting back down, facing my vanity table's mirror once, I absentmindedly brush my long hair.

After she died, I've had a lot to think about during this past week. Realizing I just couldn't believe in her fairytale fantasies anymore, not without her. It was foolish really, believing in those stories, they were just that, stories. I don't understand why I had continued to believe in them for as long as I did. You can't become an angel, or a devil, because you have 'special powers', that's ridiculous. If I was a religious person maybe I would believe in heaven and hell and angels and devils, but I'm not. I only believe in the facts, and nothing but just that will convince me to believe in something ever again.

Pushing away those thoughts, I stared at the birthday present I got from my grandmother, on her dying breaths. I can't believe she left me like that! She was the only one who understood me, she was my hope, my happiness. She listened to me, not even my mother could do that. My mother wouldn't have understood anyway. It's strange, that I have, I mean had, a stronger, closer bond with my grandmother than either of my parents. And they could never complete with that.

My tears fall once more, and I brush them away as quickly as I did when they first fell that week ago. But I can still feel more water trickle down my face. It was hopeless, really, to try to stop these tears. Sniffling a bit, I pull my hair into a bun, just as my grandmother would always do. I let out a mournful sob as I saw my finishing work in the mirror. I looked exactly like my grandmother when she was this age. I know this because only a head glance away is my grandmother's wedding photograph, she radiates beauty, even through the monochromatic picture. Letting a small smile crack through my sorrowful mask, I remember when she becomes flustered and red when people used to remark the physical differences between that picture and her just before her illness struck for the worse. Even though I knew she was ill, I could never fathom the fact that she could die.

All of a sudden, as if sensing all these warm emotions of my grandmother, I felt strangely warm, but physically warm. I swear I can feel my tears evaporating from my very cheeks, as I hear a sound that sounds very much like sizzling. Glimpsing down, to where I think the sound if coming from, I see a small trail of smoke rising from underneath my hand that is holding onto the vanity table. Startled, I whip my hand up, seeing burn marks vaguely shaped like my fingers. I screamed.

"What is it?" my mother and father asked as they rushed into my room, worried. "What happened?"

"I-I don't know! I was just thinking about grandmother, th-then I b-burned my vanity table!" I explained, my voice too high, and I was shivering even though I still felt warm, freaked.

My mother and father exchanged disbelieving looks with the other, before examining the place I was gesturing at. My mother gasped, but something crossed my father's face, it sent chills down my spine. "S-see, I-I told you," I stammered out, my voice still having trouble controlling its pitch and volume.

"We'll talk about this after your grandmother's funeral," my father said sternly. I internally flinched at his words, something I hadn't done since I was a very small child.

So, my parents left me in my room, alone, not saying a single word more to me. Not that I would've been much company, I was too inside myself. I was strangely freezing, hugging my knees tightly. I felt this barring weight of dread devour me the whole time I waited patiently for my parents to come and get me to leave. What seemed like ages passed, before my parents and I left for the church, keeping our numbing silence going.

When we finally arrived at the church, I glanced at to the fading sunset, and I was greeted with the sky ablaze with reds and oranges. The sky had caught on fire, and it seemed like it was doing this all for me. It warmed somewhat of the numbness that the silence had done to me.

During the entire funeral, I just sat there, almost dead myself, inside I felt dead. I truly was awake without thinking. Sitting in the front isle, as people wavered over my grandmother's casket when I first noticed him. Waiting patiently to the side of my grandmother's casket was a man in his mid to late fifties, resting in a wheelchair. He was bald, and even from here I could tell he was a patient, kind, and understanding man. I don't know how long I stared at him before I noticed something protruding from his back, resting awkwardly on the top of his wheelchair. Nearly gasping out loud when I finally realized he had greyish white wings, but I held it in. During my time staring at him, I also came to the conclusion that I was the only, I think, one who could see him.

Then, suddenly and surprisingly, since he just had sat there staring at my grandmother for so long, he spoke. I don't know how I heard him from a few good metres away, but I was able to. "Goodbye Cassandra," he started, patting her folded hands that were lying on her chest. "I do so hope your after life is a peaceful and happy one." If it weren't for the fact he had wings, I would have thought that those two may had been very close friends at one point in their lives.

Unable to stop staring at him, I was alarmed and surprised when he looked my way. Scared, I closed my eyes hoping he wasn't looking at me, but as the darkness of my eye lids consumed my vision, I saw him smile at me kindly, almost like a grandfather would do. Hoping that the world would return to normal if I kept my eyes closed, I didn't open them until I heard a voice calling my name, bringing me back to reality as well as the realm of sight.

Opening my eyes, I turned to see my mother standing beside me. "Yes?" I asked her, surprising myself when it came out a whisper.

"Your grandmother's lawyer is here. He's going to be reading the will, we should be going," my mother replied, taking hold of my hand, helping me stand.

"Okay…" I mumbled as my mother nearly dragged me to the room where the will was going to be read. All my attention was to the place where that winged, crippled man had been. I had been right, my stress-based delusion had vanished once I closed my eyes and opened them with a calmer outlook.

When my mother and I arrived, my father was already there and waiting, my grandmother's lawyer read the will after we sat down and he gave us his condolences saying that she was a fine woman who should have had at least another decade. I didn't really pay much attention to what he said, no matter how much I or my parents inherent, it can't bring back my grandmother. Though I do manage, through it all, to understand that my grandmother was considerably wealthy and that she left all of it to her blood relatives of her immediate family.

What brought my attention back was my father's voice, which had a cold edge to it, sounding a little fearful. "Is that it?" he asked.

"Yes, meaning that all possessions and wealth owned by Ms. Cassandra Aquilla belong solely to Miss Amara Aquilla," the lawyer stated calmly, probably not hearing the edge of my father's voice. And if he did hear it, he wasn't showing any signs of it.

"Excuse me, did you say 'solely'?" I asked breaking from my silent haze. "But what about my parents? Isn't one of them a blood relative to my grandmother?" Truthfully I actually didn't know what side of my family did my grandmother belong to.

"You haven't told her yet?" the lawyer asked my parents, surprised.

"Tell me what?" I asked, now on full alert.

My parents squirmed under my confused gaze, but stayed silent. "Amara," the lawyer said composed, catching my attention. "These people aren't your real, blood parents. Your real parents unfortunately died when you were only ten months old. Your grandmother thought it would be best for you if you were raised by your godparents."

"You mean I'm adopted?" I asked, feeling pain in the gut of my stomach. Losing my grandmother was enough, why did I have to find out about this now? I feel really sick now, dizzy almost. But it does explain one thing for me. Now I know why I felt a closer connection with my grandmother than either one of my parents, I mean godparents.

"Yes Amara. We're sorry you had to find out this way, but we didn't know when and what to say," my moth- no godmother apologized.

As I was about to forgive them both, my godfather asked, his voice still frigid. "When will Amara be the right age to gain her inheritance?"

"Well, when Amara reaches the age of adulthood of course," the lawyer replied.

"The age. Please," my godfather asked, adding the please as an afterthought. His voice had raised in volume a tad, I may have been the only one to notice, and he was getting annoyed, for some reason.

"That's the age of eighteen. Until then, the bank will hold all of it," the lawyer replied. Giving my godfather a knowledgeable look, he added, "and no one but Amara, when she is eighteen, can touch it." I wonder why he was telling my godfather this, though.

"Thank-you," my godfather replied politely getting up, but I could tell he was seething. Did he find what the lawyer said offensive? Or was it something else?

Standing up ourselves, all three of us left. I felt like I did when I was young, when I used to be frightened of my godfather. And I was definitely frightened now. All through the car ride the dread I felt before was increasing, until I wanted to run. Arriving home, I decided to head to my room, in the hopes of feeling a little more safe. Not even halfway up the stairs when he bellowed, "where the hell do you think you're going, you fucking _**freak**_!?"

Oh no…

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There, I'm done! It doesn't look too good, or even a little good, for Amara. Please review and tell me what you think!

Angel of the Fallen Stars


	4. My New Pains

Hey everyone!

I've been meaning to write this…

Disclaimer: I don't own any of X-Men: Evolution, though I wish I did. The only thing I do own of this story is the plot, so don't sue me; I'm not making any profit.

On to the chapter!

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Ever Watchful Angel

Chapter 3: New Pains

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In my bathtub, I was trying to soak away all the unbearable events that occurred in the last month of my life. Not even these scorching hot waters, which I used to have to relax, could soothe all the sorrows. Grandmother must have been the dam protecting me, but as with her death, it opened the floodgates of tragedy. I didn't have to just lose the most important person in my life, oh no, I also had to find out my parents aren't my biological parents, their my godparents, and that my real parents are dead, meaning that I'm adopted, but to top it off, I also burned my vanity table, with my bare hands! I could actually deal with all of that, and maybe even get on with my life, that is, if it weren't for the beatings.

Giving up on relaxing, I get out of the tub, but after drying myself off, I don't wrap myself with the towel, instead looking at my beaten body. I have stinging cuts all over arms, from the buckle of his belt, all of them either scabs or leaking pus nicely. Also from the belt were large, aching bruises of the strap all on my legs, the worse on my outer thighs. The belt strap was also the cause of my welting whip marks on my back. My stomach had circular splotches of red, from where I was hit multiple times with a still burning hot frying pan. The most recent wounds were my slightly bleeding cuts on my ankles from when a beer bottle was smashed at my bare feet. Though, those were the ones that I could easily cover up. Covering up the redness of the slaps to my cheeks, the scratches on my face, my swollen and cut up bottom lip, not to mention my healthy shiner were more difficult though.

Sighing, I finally wrap my body with the slightly wet towel, not caring to get another one to dry my hair. What did it matter anyway, I always cover myself head to toe with as much as possible now. And the one I need to thank for all these marvellous markings would be my godfather, the man who pretended to be my father for these past seventeen years. And my godmother doesn't even try to stop him! She acts like nothing is happening! And you want to know why the sudden change of attitude, and most likely the reason he took me in, was inheritance. That's right, all he wanted was my grandmother's money, which happens to be quite a lot. I think he assumed that if he raised me, when my grandmother died, he would some, maybe a lot, of her fortune. Well, it didn't happen, I got it all, and now he thinks that if he beats me and threatens me enough I'll cave and hand over all of it to him.

Yeah, right. He's wrong to think I'm some weak and pathetic little girl to let his beatings get to me. All I have to do is survive this year, and then I can get as far as away from him as I possibly can, and live in peace. But it has only been a month since my grandmother's funeral and I'm covered head to toe with minor, but lasting, injuries. Feeling my anger rise, I promise, to myself, the only who truly matters now, that I'll die before I let him have a single cent.

My anger, and resolve, increasing, I feel myself burn up suddenly, with the sound of sizzling following shortly after. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath conjuring up calming thoughts. I feel the temperature of my body begin to cool down, and thankfully the sizzling stops. I sigh with the loosening of my shoulder muscles.

This, me burning up, literally, happens ever so often, especially when I let my emotions, mainly my anger, get the better of me. The worse incident, so far, has been when I burned my vanity table, so I guess I could consider myself lucky. I just hope I don't lose control, but it's hard. Especially when someone is constantly pushing you to your limits, almost forcing you to either snap, lose yourself, or what I'm doing and holding onto my will power, hoping I don't lose my control over someone as stupid as him.

Luckily it's just one year, and most of the time is during my last year of school. Which means, thankfully I won't be home as often, even if he is at work all day. I can no longer live in this house and stand, all the lies and his betrayal hanging all over me, crushing me all the time. And I know my godfather will send me to school, he doesn't want attention drawn to himself, though I'm amazed that we haven't already, with all those drunken nights where he's shouting so loud that he can barely whisper in the morning. I'm surprised I never caught on, I mean now that he no longer hides his true feelings, he clearly has despised me my whole life.

Returning to my bedroom, at least I get to keep that, I stare at the burn fingerprints on my vanity table. Not being able to fathom the possibility that someone could actually, physically, burn something without materials, his mind automatically went to that, in my hysterics, I didn't realize I sent it aflame with one of my lighters for all my candles. If I wasn't my grandmother's granddaughter, and had actually been there when it happened, then I would've came to the same conclusion, though I hate to admit to agreeing with him.

After getting dressed, covering up as much as possible - it's the only way I can, and want to, go out - I crawl underneath my bed, pulling a floorboard from my floor. Inside were anything precious to me, a precaution I take in case he ever came into my room, to take what he damn well pleased to take. Lowering my arm in the hole, I feel around for a silk bag. Touching the soft fabric of it, I grab it, lifting it out of its hiding place. Opening the bag I hoisted the necklace out, spinning it not only to watch it burn, but cause the dried petals to fall back into the bag. I purposely kept my necklace in this bag, knowing the petals and bag would protect the glass from breaking. Pulling the strings to close it, I slowly slid the bag back into the hole, before I placed the floorboard back in place.

Getting out from underneath my bed, I secure my necklace around my neck, setting it safely beneath my shirt. Standing up, I left my room, heading down the stairs. Reaching ground level, I hurry towards the front door. I manage to get outside, and even onto my bike, ready to go, when my godmother's question stops me. "Where do you think you're going?"

I freeze, cringing. Cursing under my breath, I turn around to face her. "I'm going to the park," I tell, not caring how I sounded, which was most likely very rude or irritated.

"Oh, well, okay," she started taken aback, sullen and shameful. "Be home for dinner, you don't want to be late."

"Whatever," I mutter, more to myself, as I ride away. I know what my godmother really meant. If I'm late for dinner, it's just another excuse for him to beat me. He'll use any excuse to beat me. Though he's drunk so often now that he'll beat me for anything, like breathing. I either try to hide in my room, or if it's really bad, I'll sneak out, so I don't have to deal with him. I've even managed, once or twice, when he's sober, to behave perfectly enough that he can't beat me. If only that could happen more often.

He doesn't even call me by my name anymore! It's either 'freak' this, or 'bitch' that, I can't stand it! I've been blessed that he's a moron, and hasn't started on my grandmother. I know I can handle anything he calls me, but I would've snapped already if he even mention her once badly. Though, yesterday I did something really strange. My godmother had asked me to tidy up the living room, and I accidentally spilled his cigarettes all over the floor. Frustrated, I unexpectedly burnt his cigarette, though I quickly put it out, so he wouldn't know. Then, later that night, I, by chance, willed the cigarette to re-catch on fire. It burnt his hand, not badly though. But he didn't know it was me, how could he? So I got off. I'm thinking about working on that aspect of my gift. I call it my 'gift', only because I know my grandmother would, so I do too.

I reach the park easily enough, placing my bike in one of the bike racks, locking it securely in place. I pass all the normal, and most common, places for people to sit and relax, and then I come to my favourite spot, and maybe it's only mine. It's in the old part of the park, where barely anyone makes the travel to visit it anymore. I sit down, leaning against the wonderfully old maple; its older leaves already tinged with red. I look up through the canopy of leaves, to the sky, just beginning to darken with the drifting of the sun. Pulling my knees to my chest, I hug them tightly, finally letting my sorrow and pain go with each tear. Placing my head in the crook between my legs, I think fondly of this place. This is the only place I feel safe and secure enough to cry about… well, everything!

"Wot's the matter, Sheila?" a voice asked, definitely male, with what sounds like an Australian accent.

I look up to see that no one was there. If I wasn't freaked out about hearing a voice with no body to accompany it, like seeing that crippled man with wings, I would have realized his tone of voice was that of someone musing, not talking to me but to himself.

"Shuddup, ya stupid Aussie! Ah thahnk she heard ya!" another voice joined in, clearly female with what it seemed of, maybe, a southern accent. She was yelling at the male, and she confirmed that he _**was **_an Australian.

"Who… who-whoever you are, I c-can h-hear both of you," I called out, cringing when I heard myself stammer so.

"Uh-oh," I hear them both say. Then it suddenly went silent. I wait a bit, but I hear not another peep of those voices. Getting up, I scan around me, to see it maybe I missed, but I don't see a single person in the vicinity of this maple. Sighing, and worrying about my sanity, I return to my bike. I ride back home gingerly, dreading the worse. I arrive home on time, and fortunately, when my godfather gets home, he is so hammered that he passes out almost immediately. So I was able to eat my dinner peacefully, eating as much as I like, and then I went to bed. Strangely enough though, tonight I didn't have any nightmares.

To be continued…

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So? How was it? Did you guys like it? Who are the voices, I wonder…? Kidding, I bet you guys can guess who they are easily. Please review!

Angel of the Fallen Stars


	5. A New Guardian

Hey everyone!

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution, Marvel and Warner Bros. do, so don't sue me, I'm not getting any profit out of this.

On to the chapter!

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Ever Watchful Angel

Chapter 4: A New Guardian

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"Why are ya at th' lookin' spring?" the female voice that Amara had heard asked. She was a devil with thin, almost withered, dark green wings. She had very brown auburn hair that just reached to her shoulders, with two natural white streaks or stripes in the front. She was very pale, wearing an outfit very similar to the eighties punk era. She had on a ripped white tee with profanity and obscure images on it, underneath a shiny black leather jacket ending at mid waist, dull studs on the shoulders and ends of the sleeves. She wore a short skirt made of the same shiny leather material as her jacket, fish net stockings covering her long legs. She also wore black combat boots, a leather choker with an inverted pentagram hanging from it, as well as black gloves. Her dark, goth make-up made her beautiful emeralds eyes appear a greyish green. Her name was Rogue.

"Sorry Sheila, but I thought she couldn't 'ear may. Won't 'appen again," the male voice Amara heard replied, with his Australian accent. He was also a devil with red, orange, and yellow wings, merging and weaving that they took the appearance of flames. He had short, wavy red hair that stuck up, and was streaked naturally with blonde and orange highlights that one could believe his hair was made of fire. His eyes were as blue as forget-me-nots, gleaming with a burning that matched his maniac's grin perfectly. He wore a fiery red, open, buttoned up surfer-styled T-shirt, with a black tee underneath, the bottom covered with a line that circled the whole shirt, made of blue flames. He also wore baggy brown cargo pants, all the pockets carrying some kind of lighter, as well as sturdy dark red shoes that looked in no hurry to wear out. His name was St. John Allerdyce, though most just called him John.

"Liar," a third voice joined in. The voice was male and had a southern accent as well, though this one was a Cajun one. He, like the other two, was a devil with black wings, the inside of them a deep shade of red. He had brown hair that was just long enough that, if tried hard enough, could be pulled into a small pony. He wore a blue-black buttoned-up dress T-shirt, the breast pocket covered with a flaming card on it: the ace of spades. He had the exact same design on the back of his shirt, though it went unseen. He also wore black jeans, a black belt with a silver buckle at the waist. He wore black combat boots, very similar to Rogue's, as well as an old, long, brown trench coat and fingerless black gloves. Though the most noticeable thing about him were his eyes: crimson irises on black. His name was Remy LeBeau.

"'Ey! Two against one ain't fair mates!" John argued, a little disgruntled.

"Oui, but for mon belle chere, Remy can make an acceptation," Remy shot back, his cocky smirk directed more towards Rogue than John.

"Don' flatter yahself, Swamp Rat," Rogue returned with a scowl, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"Cherie, y' wound meh," Remy replied playfully, placing a hand over his heart, mocking injury.

"Barf," John said, placing one arm around his stomach, the other hand pointing to his open mouth, as he was just about to vomit. He, unwittingly, brought all the attention back to himself.

"So, why were ya at th' lookin' spring?" Rogue asked, returning to the subject that caused their argument in the first place.

"Well…" John mumbled off, either deep in thought or spacing out. Probably the latter.

"'Well' what?" Remy asked, curious as well to know why John would be interested in the looking spring.

"Well, ta look of course!" John exclaimed cheekily. Remy and Rogue groaned in unison.

"Ah know that! But why, key word 'why', were ya lookin' at th' lookin' spring?" Rogue asked, clearly aggravated. She tried her best to get her point across, since John could be thick sometimes, mostly on purpose.

"'Cause…" John mumbled off, very similarly to what a child would do. His hands were fidgeting, most likely the reason of wanting a lighter to flick, but he was holding that urge in, knowing that he currently was in trouble, and Rogue and Remy dislike it when he's flicking his lighter when he's in trouble. Especially when it's them he is in trouble with.

"'Cause' is not a answer, mon ami. Answer de question," Remy ordered, his annoyance just as high as Rogue's.

"'Cause I wanted to," John replied, grinning childishly. It seemed that even though John knew he was in deep trouble, he couldn't help himself in torturing his friends.

"John!" Rogue and Remy exclaimed at the same time, their patience at a very low.

"Wot?" John asked.

"Stop actin' lahke a child an' answer th' damn question!" Rogue ordered, her voice nearly shouting. Even holding down most of her anger, she was finding it difficult to keep her voice down.

"And if I don't?" John asked, his grin still plastered on his face. Remy flicked a card out of his pocket, it aglow with kinetic energy, while Rogue slipped off one of her gloves, revealing a pale hand and a few silver rings. John's grin fell like cement.

"I see…" Re-evaluating his chances, John quickly added, "No need ta get rough, mates. There was no real reason for watchin' 'er. I was just passin' through when I saw that Sheila in the pool. Someone 'igher up must 'ave been watchin' 'er or somethin'." John shrugged, hoping they would believe him. Sometimes, and John couldn't figure out why, they didn't believe him when he was telling the truth.

Luckily, for John anyway, just as Rogue was about to comment, a voice spoke into her mind. _Rogue, please come to the Leader's Hall and see me. It is important. _

"Chere?" Remy asked, confused why Rogue had frozen, her mouth still open, when she had just about to speak.

"Oh… oh sorry. Ah just called down ta th' Leader's Hall. Xavier wants ta see meh," Rogue said, still a little dazed.

"Wot for?" John asked.

"Don' know. Ah'll tell ya when Ah get back," Rogue answered. She then turned around, and started walking away from her friends, in the direction of the Leader's Hall.

"Au revoir cherie!" Remy called to her. Rogue waved good-bye back, not pausing or turning around.

"Wonder wot she's needed for?" John asked, watching her go.

"Good question mon ami, good question…" Remy answered, though to no one in particular.

---

Rogue entered into the Leader's Hall, a bit uncertain. She didn't know the reason why Xavier would have called her here. She wasn't technically under his rule, and Rogue knew she hadn't done anything wrong. Well, nothing more than the usual stuff.

A gentle voice asking, "Rogue? What brings you here, child?" interrupted her uneasy thoughts. Rogue turned to where the voice had spoken from, to see who the owner was, though she already knew. The owner was Ororo, a loving, weather-controlling angel with beaming bluish-grey wings, like clouds right after the rain. She had elegantly long, white hair, brilliant blue eyes, and soft brown skin. She was wearing a long, sky blue sundress, which was bulging at the stomach. The reason Rogue would know who the voice was was because Ororo was the person who allowed people to come see Xavier, either when they were summoned or needed an audience with him. It had become a precaution after the war.

"Ah was called by Xavier 'Ro. He wanted ta see meh," Rogue said.

"Alright child, you may go in," Ororo replied, with a warm smile. Ororo could trust Rogue, and didn't give her any hassle. Even six months pregnant, Ororo was a force to be reckoned with, if needed be.

"Thanks, oh an' 'Ro?" Rogue asked, as she was just about to enter, as an afterthought.

"Yes Rogue?"

"Tell Logan Ah said hi, an' Ah hope th' babes a girl," Rogue said, winking before entering Xavier's side of the Leader's Hall. Ororo just chuckled.

Rogue just entered the actual hall part of the Leader's Hall, when the door shut right behind her, all on its own, the part where she stood lightening up. The rest of the room stayed laying in darkness. _Man, Ah nevah get used ta that, _Rogue thought, slightly startled.

Don't worry Rogue, only Erik and I are used to that. Xavier's voice said in her head. "Xavier!" Rogue exclaimed out loud, clearly surprised. She always could be caught off guard in how Xavier could be stealthy in his ways of communicating. Rogue looked up to see the same fifty-year-old angel Amara had seen at her grandmother's funeral. Though the shadows of the hall hid his features, Rogue knew them by heart. He was bald, with deep, understanding brown eyes. His feathery wings were the closest to white in all of heaven, and they had a new position every day, as if they were trying to find a comfortable place to rest against his wheelchair. And he normally wore a casual suit of earthy tones, always a sweater or turtleneck as the shirt underneath the suit, and those comfortably boring loafers an aging man would wear. "Yes Rogue. I apologize for startling you," Xavier said, his voice alone conveying his remorse. "It's okay, but why am Ah here?" Rogue asked, getting straight to the point. She was always like that. "Well, usually Erik would give you any orders, but he is currently occupied in Hell with his children Pietro and Wanda. And I believe this is too important of an order for Raven to tell you, so I decided to tell you myself," Xavier paused before he actually told Rogue the reason she was here. "There is a child named Amara Aquilla, who is desperate need of a guardian, and Erik and I thought you would be the perfect choice." "Meh?" Rogue asked, getting a grip around what he had just said. She found it unbelievable. "Yes you. Erik should be back the earliest tomorrow. You'll be contacted when he returns, and it'll be expected that you will arrive in the morning. Erik will give you the rest of your orders," Xavier said in one long breath. Rogue was sometimes amazed as how natural it sounded when he did it. "You may leave." "Alrahght," Rogue said before exiting the Leader's Hall (the door miraculously had re-opened). Waving good-bye to Ororo, Rogue headed back to the house she shared with Remy and John. Remy, who was the oldest in human standards, as well as angel/devil ones, believed he 'owned' the house. John and Rogue accepted this, mostly because technically Remy did have the house first, and that entitled him to be able to kick people out, if he wanted to. Many devils and angels shared homes together, but most of them were either all devil houses or all angel houses. It was a little awkward because in the war, they had been enemies, trying to kill each other. There were angel and devil homes, but it was few. Like most of the population of heaven, Remy, John, and Rogue were all humans that had special powers, and went to heaven when they died. Though all of them died young, neither of them died of suicide. Remy had been called a devil-child, and was burned at the stake. John was drowned to death, since they thought he was a witch, and fire didn't seem to hurt. And Rogue was shot, during the War of 1812. Each of them came within two hundred years of each other, the latest being Rogue, who died almost two hundred years ago. And by human standards, they're only one or two year's difference between them, since Remy is 21, John is 19, and Rogue is 18. (A/N: I know they're not wearing the clothes of their decade, or era, or whatever. But they can see earth at any time, so they can change their clothes to fit the time period, if they like it better than the clothes they wore in their own time period. Besides, it would be weird describing them in those clothes, so please just go with it.) There are few that actually have been born in heaven, like Kurt, Pietro, and Wanda. (Kurt's an angel, while Pietro and Wanda are devils.) The numbers of heaven-born angels and devils compared to the special humans are so small. The main reason that while angels and devils live together, there are few who actually have a lover. The strangest thing about heaven-born child is that they aren't born with wings, while the special humans, when they come to heaven, already have their wings. The reason is that the special humans have already had a life to decide who they, while the heaven-born don't know who they are when they are born. So, depending on who they are, once they reach a certain age, when they know who they are, they'll grow their wings, as well as stop aging. --- Rogue had been expecting to be bombarded with questions when she got home. To her astonishment, and it slightly disturbed her, when she returned home they were patiently waiting for her seated, and that John was the only one to ask her a question, very calmly actually. "Did ya guys already choose who would go first?" Rogue asked, still slightly disturbed. Rogue, though she would never admit it, liked how unruly her two friends were, and when they were perfectly calm, it was kind of creepy. "Oui. We did 'rock-paper-scissors'," Remy replied, standing up to greet Rogue. John nodded in agreement. Sometimes those two amazed Rogue. "Ah see…" Rogue muttered. To answer John's question of why Xavier wanted to see her, Rogue answered, "ta answer your question. Xavier wanted ta see meh 'cause he an' Magnus thahnk Ah can be a guardian." "Y' chere!? Dat's great!" Remy exclaimed, almost unbelieving as Rogue had been. "Yeah Remy, are ya surprised?" Rogue replied, a prideful smirk gracing her face. She placed one hand on her hip to extenuate her question. "Chere," Remy started, almost purring. "Y' called meh by mah name. Remy knew y' cared." He was smirking in his own grin-like way. "Not this again," John muttered. His head slid slightly out of his propped up arm, his cheek squishing against his hand. Rogue nodded, her smirk becoming a scowl. Remy looked at each of his friends before he spoke. "Fine y' win, Remy won't say anoda (another) word. But y' still called meh Remy, so dat's an improvement." Remy then left the room, off to his own bedroom, it was getting late. Rogue was just about to follow Remy, wanting to go to her bedroom as well, when John stopped her with the question, "Wot's 'er name?" Turning around briefly, Rogue answered, "Amara Aquilla." She then went into her own room. John stayed where he was, pivoting around so that he now faced the table, and was sitting properly on the chair. Cradling his head in his head, John pondered the name. "Hmm… that name sounds familiar," he mused. To be continued… --- So? How was it? I'm not really good at writing accents, so don't be mad if I didn't do them right, or I overdid them. Reviews would be nice to help me with them. Reviewers: darkstorm5000: you're right about who the voices are. Thanks for reviewing! TheDreamerLady: you're also right about whom the voices are. Don't worry about putting me in your favourites if your computer doesn't work. Thanks for considering it though. I'll try to make the chapters longer, and for the godfather thing, one reason is that he wants more reasons to beat her, even though he beats her for the most stupid reasons, and the other reason is… you'll just have to wait and see. Thanks for reviewing! Angel of the Fallen Stars 


	6. A Nice Day, For Once

Hey! Sorry for such the long wait! The reasons are:

- I lost this chapter, so I had to re-write it.

I got writer's block.

My computer crashed, so I had to re-re-write it.

I've also stopped using first person for Amara; I kept changing it anyway, so I'm going to stay with third person. So, I hope you can forgive me for such a long update and I hope you enjoy it!

---

Ever Watchful Angel

Chapter 5: A Nice Day, For Once

---

Amara awoke at the brink of dawn, the first in many days, for she would sleep in to avoid her godfather. She pushed herself up onto her elbows and listened. Nothing. Not a sound coming from her godparents' room and the birds weren't singing, still asleep in their nests. A pin drop could probably be heard three houses away, it was that silent, that still. _How early did I wake? _She checked her alarm clock; 4:52 am was displayed on it. Amara couldn't believe that she was up this early! So she decided to get up and get out of the house before her godparents would wake up.

She pushed herself up fully, while throwing the covers off her. She flung her legs over the edge of the bed, being careful not to make too much noise when her feet landed on the ground. She walked to her window and pulled back a curtain, to look up at the sky. _Still grey, good. _She moved to her closet getting a hoodie, and a pair of comfortable jeans. Amara then rushed to her bathroom, while still trying to make no sounds, and got ready. Ten minutes later she quietly left her room, fully clothed, teeth and hair brushed, necklace safe in her bag, as well as her notebooks, pencils, sketches, and her camera. And not to forget all her homework she still hasn't done yet.

She crept down the stairs, heading toward the kitchen for a very early breakfast, as well to make a lunch. She got out her cereal, a bowl, spoon and the milk. She was pouring the milk into the bowl when she heard it, the creaking of someone coming down the stairs, and into the kitchen! Amara spun around expecting to see her godfather, only to find her godmother looking sleepily at her, to her relief. "You're up… early," she said through her yawns.

"Yeah, I wanted to get a head start on my homework today. I have barely three weeks left of summer break, before my last year," Amara said, sitting down in front of her bowl, placing the milk jug beside her on the table.

"Want me to make you a lunch?" She asked, taking the jug of milk and placing it back in the fridge.

"Uh… sure," Amara answered, looking away from her godmother. Amara still loved her godmother, but also hated how she wouldn't do anything to help her against _**him**_. Amara also hated that she would only be nice to her when he wasn't around, as well as acting like nothing was going on in this house. She knew that her godmother was afraid, but it was just… hard sometimes with one person angry and the other delusional.

After finishing her breakfast Amara left, taking her lunch with no words of thanks or of leaving. Her godmother understood, for she wouldn't expect anything less. Amara didn't know this, but she would die for Amara to be happy, it was just that she was too weak to do the right thing.

Amara rode full speed all the way to the park, without looking back.

---

To say Rogue was unhappy was the understatement of the year. Not only did she have to be up earlier than she normally had to be, for she needed to see Erik, but John and Remy were 'helping' her get ready. Well, really Remy was 'helping' her; John just stood in the way, sleepy eyed and disoriented. As Rogue was just about to take off her glove to 'zap' him, Remy grabbed one of her gloved hands, kissing it, before pushing her out the door. Rogue turned around to yell at him, to find the door slammed in her face. "Remy LeBeau, Ahm gonna kill ya when Ah get back!" Rogue shouted through the door, before storming off.

"Ya know you'll get a serious beatin' when she get back, roight mate?" John asked, most of his sleepiness gone from all that racket Rogue and Remy had made.

"Ah know mon ami, Ah know," Remy said, not caring what will happen to him when Rogue gets back. He believed that was how she showed that she cared. Especially since she called him by his real name twice in the past 12 hours.

Rogue cooled down about half way to the Leader's Hall. She passed Piotr on the way, giving him a small smile and a wave. Piotr, or Peter to most, was an angel with dark grey wings. He had short, black hair and ice blue eyes, though he was never a cold person. He was wearing a light blue buttoned up, long sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show off his very muscular arms, and dark blue jeans with paint splattered on them. He also had worn, black boots that were hard to see since he had his canvas on them to allow him to paint while sitting. Even though he was sitting, you could tell he was a very tall man.

Peter barely acknowledged her. He had become very distance since the incident just after the Last War. (That's the name of the war that brought the angels and devils together.) Peter's brother, Mikhail, was part of the faction that rebelled against both the angels and the devils, and their goal was to rule over all of heaven. Most of them were sent to the lowest depths of hell to serve the most excruciating painful punishment imaginable. Though Mikhail wasn't discovered to be a part of this faction until he tried to kill everyone in sight. He was stopped and sent to hell as punishment, but not before he killed their little sister, Illyana. Peter almost stopped functioning all together now, not even Kitty, who is his most cherished and closest friend, can bring him even the smallest bit of happiness back into his life.

Rogue knew how he felt; she had lost the closest thing to a mother during that war. Irene, the blind seer, took care of her since she came to heaven, and when she died, Rogue didn't know if she could live anymore. Though, through the help of Remy and John (though she would never tell them), and of the motherly support of Irene's closest friend in heaven, Raven, she was able to get through most of the pain. She also saw Raven and her son Kurt as her adoptive family now, and half of her time was spent with them.

Rogue wished she could tell Peter that there still was meaning left in his life, but right now he wanted to be alone. Anyone could tell when he wanted to be alone; it was when he was painting, which was most of the time now a days. She hoped he could start to heal soon, or there might be one less angel in heaven.

Rogue reached the Leader's Hall in a solemn mood, which was instantly noticed by Raven. "Rogue, what's wrong?" She asked, getting up from her seat to be closer to Rogue. It wasn't just Rogue that saw Raven and Kurt as family, Kurt and Raven felt the same and cared for Rogue as if she really was part of their family.

"Oh, hey Raven. Ah was just thinkin' 'bout Irene," Rogue answered, now realizing Raven was there. Raven gave her a comforting squeeze on the shoulder. Like most days, today Raven was a regal looking woman of late thirties. She had dark hair, though it wasn't necessarily black. Her eyes were a bright blue, though, depending on her mood, tended to change. She wore a commanding black suit, which extenuated her pale skin. Though, Raven was a shape shifter, and so, her shape was always changing, she leaving her true form to only those closest to her.

"Oh, Rogue. Are you alright?" She asked, keeping her hand on Rogue's covered shoulder.

"Ya, Ah have ta go see Magnus. Ahm a guardian now ya know," Rogue said giving a half smile. 'Magnus' was what those who weren't close to him called him, while his closest friends, like Xavier, called him Erik, his true name.

"That's wonderful! Tell Kurt and I all about it when you get back," Raven said, sending her off to the Leader's Hall entrance, devil side. (Last time she came she went through the angel side, since Xavier was the one who called her.)

Rogue entered the hall, door closing after her with the room lighting up for her. Having been through that before in the last 24 hours, Rogue wasn't as spooked by it. Rogue turned to look at the centre of the room expecting to see the outlines of Erik and Xavier sitting side-by-side. Though, even covered by the shadows, Rogue could tell that only Erik was there. _Strange, _thought Rogue. _Ah've nevah thought that Xavier evah left th' Leader's Hall. _

"Hello Rogue," Erik said his voice unemotional and unwavering as usual. Like Xavier, Rogue knew what Erik looked like by heart. Erik was also about fifty with pure white hair, and ice blue eyes, which actually portrayed his stature perfectly, cold and serious. He had shiny, silver wings that Rogue swore if she touched them they would be made of steel, like his gaze. He normally wore sweaters or long-sleeved shirts, with dress pants. He wasn't one known for suits, and he wore sturdy boots, like those in the army.

"Hallo Magnus, Ahm here rahght on tahme, so care ta tell meh what's goin' on?" Rogue asked, not caring how rude she sounded. She knew he didn't care, since his own children talked worse to him than she had.

"As Xavier told you, you will be the guardian to one Amara Aquilla, a seventeen year old who may die any day now," Erik started. Rogue was shocked, she didn't know that her child was gonna be some depressed, suicidal girl.

"Um, Magnus?"

"Yes?"

"Ah don' thahnk (think) that Ah can handle a suicidal gal," Rogue said not caring that she might be punished for her 'pickiness', if you could call it that. Erik chuckled, causing shivers to run down Rogue's spine. She had never heard him chuckle, it was rare to see him even smile, and she hope that she would never have to hear it again.

"Don't worry Rogue, we wouldn't give someone who was suicidal," Erik said. If there were proper lighting in the Leader's Hall, Rogue would've realize that Erik was smiling, which would have probably alarmed her to no end. She didn't know this, but Amara's first choice for a guardian was Jean, a very good-spirited angel, who was one of the very few who came to heaven without be born into heaven or dying. Erik was the one who suggested that Rogue be Amara's guardian, for Erik knew that Amara needed someone with a more pessimistic point of view toward life. Plus Rogue's life on earth didn't have a happy family life included, unlike Jean's.

"But- "She may die any day now, for her godfather, one of her legal guardians, beats her to no end." Erik interrupted. Rogue stopped talking, now totally interested in what Erik was saying, as he knew she would be. Erik was actually good with people and could read them well, despite his cold nature.

"She just lost her last of kin, and without her grandmother's protection, Amara is being beaten senseless by her godfather. She has an iron will, and is filled with such fire that she refuses to let him get to her." Rogue gave him a look. "You must be wondering why her godfather is doing this?" Rogue nodded. "It's her inheritance."

"Money? She is bein' beaten senseless all for money!?"

"Yes."

Something snapped in Rogue, for her eyes began to fell like they were on fire. Little did she know that she was calling forth an ability she had 'acquired' during the war. It was an angel, Scott's, ability of very powerful blasts that were fired from the eyes. Erik noticed this in time to use his ability of magnetism to force some metal from the walls in front of Rogue's eyes to block the blast until she regained control of herself.

Only seconds after the blasts were fired, Rogue quickly closed her eyes, and almost fell to the floor. She was trying very hard to control what was left of the 'Scott' in her. A minute or two passed before Rogue stood up, her wings looking more withered than ever. "Ahm sorry," Rogue muttered weakly.

"Yes, can I continue or should I take more metal to protect myself?" Erik asked. The metal he had used to block Rogue's optic blasts had melted almost completely through. Rogue shook her head. "Good, as I was saying, Amara's godfather is beating her because of the inheritance she gained from her grandmother's death," Erik paused to see Rogue's reaction this time. Rogue only squeezed her hands into fists, holding back her anger, and any powers that wanted to surface. Erik continued.

"We believe that the only reason the godfather ever took her in was because the grandmother's large fortune. I believe that his notion was that if he took care of her, when the grandmother died she would leave at least some of her fortune to him. That was not the case and now he beats her, thinking that if he punishes her enough and threatens her enough that Amara will give up her inheritance to him.

As I stated before, Amara has an iron will, meaning that she would most definitely let him kill her than let him have what he desires. So, what do you imagine we need you to do for her?" Erik asked after explaining the matter, waiting to see what she'll say, for if it wasn't the answer he wanted Rogue wouldn't became Amara's guardian.

"Ah thahnk ya want meh ta help 'Mara get through 'til she turns eightain (18), which is legal age now rahght? An' if that won' work, make sure she doesn' give inta his beatin's 'til she dies, rahght?" Rogue answered, even though she was asking questions.

"You don't believe she'll make it?" Erik asked, his eyebrow quirking.

"No, but Ahm bein' rahlistic (realistic). She may even die tomorra, who knows?" Rogue said shrugging, though she was actually hoping that Amara would make it through.

"Yes, then go to your child," Erik said, satisfied with her answer.

After Rogue left, Erik called out as if someone was there. "You may come out now." If Rogue had still been there, she would've been surprised to see two pairs of eyes, both ice blue, in the shadows.

"Don't worry, _Father_, we were just leaving," one of the pair said. Then both pair eyes disappeared, and without turning around Erik knew that he was now truly alone.

---

Rogue ran all the way to the Looking Well. The Looking Well wasn't just for watching Earth; it was also a passage way to Earth. Rogue called out her child's name and the calm waters of the well swirled and changed, showing Amara sitting underneath a tree, writing in her notebook. Rogue gripped the edges of the well and jumped in. Instead of becoming wet or even hearing a splash, Rogue found herself standing in the park, right in front of Amara. Though she hadn't even realized Rogue was in front of her.

Rogue coughed, but had no response. Angered, Rogue coughed louder, nothing; Amara was too absorbed in her writings. "Amara!" Rogue yelled, finally get her attention.

"Huh! Yes!?" Amara exclaimed surprised, her head flying around looking for who called her. Amara finally noticed that there was someone in front of her, someone with _**wings**_Amara, mouth open and hanging, just stared.

"Will ya stop starin'! Ahm not an hallucination, or Ah couldn' do this!" Rogue cried out, walking up to Amara and closing her mouth, just a little too forcibly.

"Ow!" Amara cried pulling her mouth out of Rogue's grip. _That hurt, so I can't be asleep. _Amara thought rubbing her chin, where Rogue grabbed to close her mouth. She eyed Rogue, noticing that her wings weren't the only thing strange with her. She had two white streaks in her hair, and dressed weirdly as well. Amara wasn't impressed with what she saw of this devil. Yes, Amara realized that this girl with the devil wings and an accent she swore she had heard before was a devil, something she had just come to terms with that these things didn't exist.

Rogue on the other hand wasn't impressed by Amara's looks either. Since Amara believed she had been alone, she had taken off her hoodie, for it was a nice warm day, showing off all her bruises and cuts. Rogue could tell that Amara was actually a very beautiful girl, but she looked like she ate less, and was close to dying. Rogue would love to get her hands on that godfather, but Rogue had only physical connections with Amara, meaning she could walk through walls, but not Amara. Amara was the only physical being she could touch, a precaution that tormented all guardians.

Amara finally broke the silence. "Who are you, and what do you want with me?"

"Ahm your guardian 'Mara."

"What!? Aren't I a little old for a guardian angel, or devil in my case," Amara said sarcastically.

Rogue quirked her eyebrow in surprise. _How does she know that Ahm a devil? _"No, 'Mara. Actually people your age are more inclahned (inclined) ta have a guardian than small children." Rogue answered, matter-of-factly.

"How do you know my name?" Amara asked now realizing that she had taken off her hoodie and was reaching for it.

"Ah know a lot 'bout ya 'Mara. Includin' th' beatin's, so ya don' have ta put that back on. Even though Ah can' feel it, Ah can tell it's a hot day out," Rogue said sitting beside Amara, her front facing Amara's side.

Amara picked up the sweater, anyway, placing it into her backpack. "So what's your name?" Amara asked, now taking out a sketchbook and a pencil to accommodate for the hoodie.

"Rogue."

"Rogue? That's a weird name," Amara commented on, while flipping her sketchbook to an empty page.

"If you're a good lil' gal Ah mahght tell ya my real name," Rogue said a mischievous smile on her face. Amara smiled in return, she may look weird, but Amara could tell that Rogue was a good person. "So what's wit' th' sketchbook?"

"I'm gonna sketch you," Amara said, starting the rough layout of Rogue. "I'm not the best when it comes to drawing, but I'm good enough to make you look decent."

"Ah may have ta get John ta burn that," Rogue said, smiling at her own joke.

"John? Who's that?" Amara asked, looking up briefly to help with her drawing.

"Ya really wanna know?" Rogue asked. Amara looked up again, nodded, then went back to her drawing. "Ah sure that th' guardian shouldn' be tellin' all 'bout 'er world."

"If you tell me about yourself, I might tell you my big secret," Amara said looking up, a similar smile on her face to the one Rogue had. Rogue chuckled.

"All rahght, but it mahght take all day," Rogue added.

"I've got all day."

"All rahght, all rahght." So Rogue began, and not really knowing where to begin she began with her death. Amara was a great listener, and by lunchtime Amara had stopped drawing all together. Rogue didn't mind, she was kind of glad to have an audience that didn't already know the story. Unless she wanted to talk to the angels she didn't like at all, especially since almost all of them were with her most of the time.

Rogue eventually stopped, much to Amara's displeasure, but the sun was setting and she knew that she would need to get home as well. "Listen," Rogue said, "Ah know that ya don' lahke where ya are now, but Ah'll be wit' ya a lot, so could ya bare th' night time by your lonesome?" Amara nodded, but Rogue could tell she didn't want for her to leave. Rogue then took something from her boot, and placed it into Amara's hands.

"What's this?"

"It's whatevah ya want it ta be. If lahfe gets ta hard for ya, just thahnk of meh an' Ah'll come, don' ya worry, 'kay?" Rogue said, standing up. Rogue and Amara watched as the thing in her hands grow and take shape to become a leather bracelet that had a gemstone of the deepest red in the centre of it.

"So you'll come whenever I call?" Amara asked looking at her new bracelet.

"That's th' point. See ya latah, 'Mara," Rogue said before disappearing like she was never there.

"See you," Amara muttered under her breath as she took her hoodie out of her backpack, while placing her sketchbook and pencil back in. She put her hoodie on, grabbed her bag, and began heading toward her bike at the bike rack at the front of the park. She walked to her bike in silence, as well as she rode in silence dreading what her godfather will do when she gets home, if she could call it that.

She got yelled at, and hit several times before being sent to her room without dinner. Good thing she was smart and saved half of her lunch, which she ate in the comfort and silence of her darkened room. Excluding the drunken yells of her godfather, of course. She placed her new bracelet, and her necklace, underneath the loosened floorboard, beneath her bed. Before getting from the floor, Amara made sure the floorboard looked exactly like the others, unloosened.

Amara then went to bed a smile on her face as she fell asleep. She had a good day today, and she couldn't wait to see Rogue again.

Little did Amara know that soon more aspects of her life would also make her smile.

---

Rogue arrived home just as the last bit of the sun sunk beneath by the horizon. Remy was sitting there waiting, and when he saw her he stood up, an almost serious look on his face. "Now chere, Remy would just-" Rogue interrupted him by what seemed like her jumping on him, which turned into an interesting sort of hug. "Chere? Are y'all rahght?" Remy asked looking down at the smiling beauty.

Rogue nodded, before realizing what she was doing. She let go, blushing. "Where's John?" Rogue asked, changing the subject. Remy smiled, not just from Rogue's outburst of emotion, but also where John was. He took Rogue's hand and led her to John's room. There was John, asleep and drooling, oblivious to his two roommates laughing softly to themselves, for John looked hysterical, goofy, and adorable all at the same time. Plus it was strange and very unusual to see John asleep before them, for John was the night owl in the house; he rarely slept more than five hours a night!

They left John alone to his sleeping, and were now alone. Rogue was about to say goodnight, and get away from Remy as fast as she could, but Remy grabbed each of her hands, putting one behind her back and pulling her other arm behind his head, over his shoulder, bringing them closer, forcing Rogue to go on her tiptoes. They were so close that Rogue could feel his breath on her face, causing her to turn a shade of red once more. "I lahke it t'at you're a gardien now, chere. I 'ope t' 'ave a 'ello lahke t'at every day, non?" Remy said huskily before brushing his lips lightly against hers. He then let her go and went into room leaving Rogue alone and blushing. Remy was _**always**_serious when he talked in first person. Rogue went into her room, lightly touching her tingling lips.

Things could become very bad if Remy ever found out that Rogue now had complete control over her absorbtion ability.

To be continued…

---

So, how'd ja like it? I hope it was longer, and I'm so sorry for such the long wait, you guys must think I'm dead! -- --' I told you some of the reasons, but there are just so many to name that I gave up trying. If any of you who are reading this read any of my other fanfictions, please know that some that I have already started may be delayed since I lost them. So sorry!

Reviews:

MasterBratten: angels are the more goodie two shoes kind of personality (like Jean and Scott) while the devils have more of a badass kind of personality (like Wanda and Rogue). Does clear it up for you a bit? If not, I can e-mail you a more in-depth explanation. Kay?

BlackTalon: Thanks for reviewing! And, yeah I'm still updating, but it's kinda hard when you don't have the internet anymore.

v son sayian: You'll just have to wait and see.

TheDreamerLady: don't worry about being late, it took me about a year and a half to finally update. Besides, you were the first to review this chapter, so don't feel too bad. I'm glad you liked the length, I hope this one meets your standards. Sorry that I didn't e-mail you, I thought you were on the author alert, I e-mailed you about this chapter though, so I hope that it makes up for not doing it last time. Your last line of your review mentioned some people, so I put one in the story, hope you like. Your review was interesting, and yet a little hard to read. Could you make it a little easier, please?

Angel of the Fallen Stars


	7. The Gift of Fire

Hey everyone! Here's another chapter, this one coming a lot sooner than the last one. I would just like everyone to know that these chapters, and all my other chapters for different stories, will be coming in faster now.

Hope you enjoy the chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men Evolution, Marvel does, so please don't be mean and sue me.

---

Ever Watchful Angel

Chapter 6: The Gift of Fire

---

_The earth __**rumbles. **__Off in the distance, a volcano __**erupts. **_

_Amara, in the comforting darkness, __**feels **__it all._

_Reaching out into the dark, Amara absently watches as a finger flickers, before catching __**on**__**fire**__. Soon, her whole hand is __**engulfed **__in flames. The flames begin to lick down her arm, as she…_

…

Amara awoke to see her arm raised, on fire, with the smell of burning wafting all around her. Cursing, Amara concentrated, willing the flames to die away quickly. Getting out of bed, Amara surveyed the damage and, to her relief, there was not a single char or burn mark on her sheets or in the vicinity of her bed. Amara jumped in alarm when her godfather came crashing through the door, roaring like a madman.

"Why the **FUCK** do I smell **BURNING**!?" he bellowed as he shoved Amara, violently, to the floor. Amara didn't answer; knowing it was better to seem subdued by keeping silent. Of course, it never completely was successful.

A vein popping above his right eye, Amara readied herself as he raised his clenched fist. "Hey, _**freak, **_I was talking to you. You think that you can ignore me, you little bitch?"

Hand only inches away from Amara's face, quivering with rage, and just as he was about to strike, Amara's godmother peeked her head from the opening of the door, saying, "Dwayne, honey. Remember, school's starting soon."

He turned his head quickly, and her godmother instantly cowered from his presence. He then glanced back at Amara, before he slowly, almost painfully, unclenched his fist. Returning his attention back to his wife, he replied, "Fine." Stalking towards her, he grabbed her tightly, dragging her outside with him as he slammed the door behind him. Amara cringed when she heard the slap that was so painfully loud that even she could hear it so clearly behind the door. Shouts ensued, all from _**him**_. Amara would never call by his name, he didn't deserve that privilege.

Standing up, Amara brushed off imaginary dusk from her knees and back, as her godmother meekly opened the door, a large, already swelling, red mark on her cheek. Looking down, ashamed, she asked, "would you like lunch after he has left for work?"

_Lunch? Did I really sleep in that late? _Amara asked herself, as she watched her godmother uncover the curtains, revealing the sun, shining brightly. Sheltering her eyes with her hand, Amara asked, "lunch? Colleen, did I oversleep again?" Amara had started calling her godmother by her first name after her first encounter with Rogue. She had made Amara realize that it wasn't Colleen's fault, and that Amara shouldn't punish her for her godfather's mistakes.

It always made Colleen beam.

Giving Amara a weak, but overjoyed, smile, Colleen replied, "I hope this doesn't become a habit, school is starting soon, and I don't want you missing half of your classes." Rubbing Amara's shoulder lightly, she added, "I'll be downstairs in the kitchen, come down after you're ready." Letting go of Amara's shoulder, Colleen left her room, shutting the door behind her softly.

Sure she was gone, Amara stared at her hands and arms. _What am I going to do? _Amara thought, worriedly. This may have been the first time her godparents noticed, but it wasn't the first time that this happened. Absently looking out the window, now adjusted to the sunlight, Amara balled her hands into fists. If this continued, it would become very unfortunate for not just her. Colleen had begun to stand up to him more and more, and if Amara continued to have trouble controlling this 'gift' of hers, she would be beaten more and more, defending Amara.

After getting dressed in her now 'normal' attire, Amara waited another good ten minutes before she headed downstairs. She would rather be cautious and wait, then have to deal with him again this morning, err… noon? Positive he was no longer in the house, Amara left her room, walking down the stairs towards the kitchen.

---

"Cherie?" a voice asked softly. Rogue groaned, rolling over on her bed, covering her head with the blankets. The voice sounded so familiar, but the nagging pain in her temples stopped her from forming any larger thoughts without tremendous amount of suffering. But the pain didn't stop Rogue from noticing that whoever had spoken was ever so slowly pulling back the blankets.

Not wanting that, Rogue's arm whipped out, to hit that someone, but was caught quite unexpectedly, just a little roughly, as if whoever it was didn't want to hurt her. Opening her eyes, the blankets no longer covering her head because her arm had flung the blankets back, Rogue stared into red on black eyes. Those gorgeous eyes bringing her back to the world outside her mind, Rogue weakly asked, still groggy and pained, "Remy?"

"Oui. 'Ow do y' feel?" Remy asked, not gloating that she had said his name. He was much more worried about her health; it had been slowly, but surely, deteriorating ever since the war. One day, and Remy was hoping that it would never come, Rogue will wake up, and no longer be Rogue, a different personality taking control.

"Lahke shit," was Rogue's blunt response. Remy held in his laughter, but couldn't hide the smile that graced his handsome face. She then hunched her shoulders awkwardly, sort of like a weird twitch. Glaring at him, Rogue scowled, before saying, "help meh up."

Eyebrows lifting in surprise, Remy remained silent. It was rare for Rogue to ask for help, she must really need it, or she wouldn't have asked. Nodding, Remy leaned in, placing his other arm underneath Rogue, holding onto her back. She was grateful he was being completely serious, so Rogue could wrap her free arm around his neck without needing to exert herself to have him behave. Pulling her up, Remy was as gentle as he could be, while still being forceful enough able to raise her. After Rogue was more upright, Remy helped her slide backwards so she could lean against the headboard.

"Thanks," Rogue said, embarrassed. Remy just gave her a small, caring smile, still worried about her. She was panting, sweating greatly, just from that small act. Will these bouts of extreme weakness become more frequent? After a few moments of nothingness, thinking she was more composed, Remy asked, "so, should Remy tell Kurt t' leave?"

Head snapping to face him, Rogue asked, flustered, "Kurt's here?"

"Oui."

"Bring him ta meh!" Rogue exclaimed, ordering Remy loudly. Remy couldn't argue with that. Letting go of Rogue's wrist with a gentle rub, Remy stood up, leaving Rogue's room. About a minute later Remy came back, Kurt coming into the room.

Kurt was a heaven-born angel who only looked a year or two younger than Rogue. His wings were a darkly deep blue, very much like his fur. Kurt had blue fur, only three large fingers and toes on his hands and feet, not to mention a tail, which made him look like a demon. He may have looked like one but Kurt was a saint at heart. His shoulder length hair, hiding his pointed ears, was the same colour as his fur, and his warm yellow eyes were the same colour as his mother's, Raven, when she was in her true form. He wore a Romanian-styled buttoned-up white shirt, the sleeves short and had intricate patterns woven in the front and back. His dark pants were made of a loose, jean-like, material that was accommodated for his tail. He wore no shoes, and always carried a rosary with him.

"Remy will leave y' t' alone," Remy said, leaving the room. He went unheard, the two already immersed in their own little world. Remy didn't mind though, Rogue was always so lively during, and after, Kurt's visits. So instead, Remy went to wake up the still sleeping John, hoping his friend's recently changing sleeping habits weren't due to sickness.

"How are things Rogue?" Kurt asked, already comfortable in the chair by Rogue's bedside. (A/N: Kurt won't have an accent in this story because he didn't grow up in Germany, he grew up in heaven.) Kurt glanced at where Remy had last been, before returning his gaze to his surrogate sister. A mischievous smile appeared on his blue face, before he quirked his eyebrows in a suggested way. "How are things between you and Remy?"

Rogue blushed, lightly punching the laughing boy's arm. "Don' start!" she exclaimed. Kurt just laughed harder, while Rogue seethed. They were always like that: play fighting.

Wiping a tear from his eye, Kurt asked, now serious, "how are you really Rogue?" Rogue stopped pretending to be angry, suddenly looking terribly tired.

Sighing, Rogue took a hold of Kurt's hand, squeezing gently. She then smiled softly, her shoulders slumping. She could allow herself to be weak in front of her brother; she knew he would keep this side of her to himself. He squeezed her hand in return, patiently waiting for her to be ready to confide in him.

"Ah had anotha of those nahghtmares Kurt," she started, looking almost scared. Kurt's hold on Rogue's hand tightened. "And this mornin'! Ah didn' even recognahzed Remy!" Her voice quivered slightly, the fear in her affecting her voice. Staring at her brother, Rogue asked, unsure of herself, "what am Ah gonna do?"

Kurt's brows furrowed, thinking. A moment later he asked, "have you told Xavier or Magnus about this?" Rogue shook her head slowly, almost weakly. "Why not tell them?"

Rogue gave him a sad, slightly embarrassed look. "Could ya mayba do it for meh?" Rogue asked. "Ah don' seem ta have any strength today." Kurt shook his head, smiling.

"Alright." Kurt stood up, letting go of her hand.

"Thanks." Rogue began to slide down the headboard, needing sleep. Kurt left with a smile. Entering into the room that led to the outside, Kurt saw a sleepy-eyed John and Remy sitting at the table, John eating breakfast. (A/N: yes they eat, and sleep. Because of their powers they need to eat and sleep or else they would wear into nothing without being able to recharge themselves.) Smiling to them both, Kurt said his goodbyes to them as he left the house.

Knowing he had nothing else to do, Kurt walked towards the Leader's Hall hoping Xavier would be there. Xavier had disappeared a while ago, and no one knew where he was. _Well, maybe Magnus, _Kurt thought, walking past a sleeping wolf. It was Rahne, and it was not uncommon to see her sleeping around this time of day. Though Magnus was known to disappear every once and a while, it was strange for Xavier to do the same. And Rogue's need a telepath like Xavier. True, Jean could possibly help as well, but Rogue would never allow it: she hated that girl with a passion.

Walking into the devil side of the Leader's Hall, knowing that Magnus would definitely be in, and so he could also see his mother, Kurt was surprised to see that not only his mother wasn't here, but in her stead was Magnus' daughter, one of the infamous hell twins, Wanda.

Wanda was a devil with pure blood red wings. Like her father and brother, she had ice blue eyes. Unlike her only relatives, she had pure black hair. And for some strange reason Wanda could change her appearance at will. It probably had to do with the magick in her, but Wanda's hair would occasionally be infused with bright red roots. This is when her hair is short. Today, though, her hair was pure black, and shoulder length. Sitting down, her body was almost completely covered with her deep scarlet trench coat. Through the tiny rips in her coat, you could small bits of her shiny black, leather pants, her combat boots, and all her chains, necklaces, and bracelets. She also wore a scarlet red, sleeveless blouse, though it was hard to distinguish from her coat. She wore darker goth makeup than Rogue, accenting her features with red, and dangling from her ears were ankh earrings.

Glancing to her side when she heard Kurt approach, Wanda gave him one of her half smirks. Smiling back, Kurt asked, "what are you doing here?"

Eyes flicking to the door, Wanda replied, "waiting for my brother. He's in a meeting with our _father._" Kurt held back a shiver. It always scared him how much contempt those two could place in that one word. Giving a nonchalant half shrug, like she didn't care about how much she hated her father, Wanda asked, "so, what are you doing here?"

"I was hoping to see Xavier, but I figured he was still missing, so I thought I could ask Magnus for some help or advice. Maybe at least tell me when Xavier is coming back," Kurt replied, deciding that it seemed safe enough to sit beside her. Sometimes, Wanda would get in these… moods that made her completely unapproachable. Taking the seat beside her, Kurt added, "it's so weird that he is away."

Wanda nodded. Tilting her head slightly, Wanda read the hidden meaning in Kurt's words through the expression on his face. Some unknown darkness shadowed her features. "You will not find out the reason of his disappearance from me." Wanda spoke with such malice in her voice, Kurt flinched, unable to hold back his fear of this magick wielder.

Then, her face grew soft, almost drained. "Sorry," Wanda sighed, giving Kurt a weary smile. "He'll be back, he has responsibilities," Wanda paused. "Is the reason you're here to hopefully see Xavier for Rogue?" Kurt nodded slowly, almost unsure to tell her. It almost felt like he was betraying Rogue. Many knew of her… illness, but few knew the cause or her symptoms.

"I would suggest to see Agatha to help with the nightmares, since Rogue doesn't wish to be aided by Jean," Wanda suggested. Kurt would have been surprised by her knowledge, except that it was her. For some strange reason, even though Wanda and Pietro were in hell more often than not, they always knew what was going on. More so than anyone else actually, and they didn't even have close ties to their father to find out from him.

Just as Kurt was about to give his thanks for the suggestion, the doors to enter the Leader's Hall opened. Kurt watched Wanda stand, briefly glancing to the doors. No one was there. Giving Kurt a small, but true, smile, Wanda lifted her arm in some sort of semblance of a wave, before a gush of wind, Pietro, blew past Kurt, causing him to close his eyes, his arm shielding them more. When he opened his eyes, Wanda was no longer there.

Standing up himself, Kurt shrugged at their oddities. They seemed to make it a point to not be seen together. Though it was more usual to see Wanda than Pietro, since Pietro only gives a very selected few the time of day to actually have a conversation with. No one understood their reasons, but accepted them, since they never stayed in heaven often.

Leaving the Leader's Hall, Kurt headed to one of the oldest houses in heaven, belonging to the eccentric witch, Agatha.

---

The day went by incredibly slow. Amara knew the reason: it was because Rogue hadn't shown up. The first day Rogue hadn't shown up, Amara had grown extremely worried, thinking she was never going to see Rogue again. The next day, though, Rogue returned, explaining to Amara that due to some difficulties she wouldn't go into (her powers) (A/N: Rogue hasn't told Amara about her powers because that's one of the rules of being a guardian: you cannot reveal your powers in any sort of way.), and that would cause her to miss some days. But if Amara desperately needed her that day, she would be there. Amara wouldn't try to trouble her too much, and because she's suffered through a lot already, she could go through the day without Rogue if need be. Amara didn't want to force Rogue to exert herself too much if she was ill. Amara knew that Rogue would be back tomorrow, and that gave her hope through the day.

The day hadn't been that bad anyway, since Colleen and Amara had gone back to school shopping. And other than the incident this morning, Amara had not had another bout where her advancing gifts went out of control. Lying down onto her bed, Amara closed her eyes, her fiery dreams entrancing her happily, making her forget all her worries over her powers, or the fear for her godmother and herself.

As she dreamed her very being begun to burn.

To be continued…

---

Sorry it took so long for me to update! And I'm so sorry that this chapter is so short. I know my last chapter was almost twice is long as this one, but last chapter was full of information. The upcoming chapters will be definitely longer than this one, but probably not longer than the last chapter, sorry.

Reviewers:

Lady Shalafay: I know, it's rare for a Amara centred fic. I really like the character and thought why not? Thanks for the review!

o-dragon: Thanks for the support. I get it a lot that people don't really get the whole angel/devil thing. It's sorta like a religion but not. It's kinda hard to explain. But this is it in a nutshell. Angels and devils are celestial beings that watch over earth, occasionally coming down to earth and interacting with troubled people. Depending on their personality they are either an angel or a devil. And before they lived together peacefully, they were at war, now they're not. Try re-reading the chapters again, it could help. Thanks for the review!

I recently did a small revamp for this story, and I've added it in with this chapter. I hope you guys like it. I'm trying to update as fast as I can, so please, anyone who is reading this, be patient. To quote my favourite author A Spot of Bother: "reviews are love."

Angel of the Fallen Stars


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